


Proof to Patronize

by whatsanapocalae



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Bondage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eye Sex, Eye Trauma, Finger Sucking, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, No Lube, Size Difference, Skull Fucking, Spitroasting, Trans Male Character, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 19:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30077427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsanapocalae/pseuds/whatsanapocalae
Summary: Stefano has been offered a patron for his art and he's never found someone who appreciated his work like Father Theodore Wallace does. But he must prove himself, show what his patron can get from him, and express his loyalty before he can be made into the artist he was meant to be.
Relationships: Stefano Valentini/Theodore Wallace
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Proof to Patronize

Stefano's knees, on the cold marble floor, ached, but not as much as his wrists, tied behind him with a thick and heavy rope. He didn't know how long he'd been kneeling there, head down, in the dark, the only light coming from the candles that sat in heavy cascades against the walls, wax melting down them like flesh did, like clay, making his bound and stiff hands want to mold and sculpt. He could make so many things here, he was just lacking the vision. 

The vision and the means, but that was soon to change, he knew it was. He was going to gain a patron. He just had to prove himself worthy of one. He thought that his work would be enough but Father Theodore had told him he wanted more, wanted to see what Stefano was capable of, more than just as an artist but with certain tasks. He'd already proved his skills with a blade as well. 

A door opened and he turned, looking over his shoulder. He was nude and part of him thought that he should hide himself for that, have a semblance of humility, but that had never come to him naturally. The room was warm enough anyway, so hot that it felt like the building was burning around him, but there was no smoke asphyxiating him, not this time. 

He wondered, for a moment, if the figure was the patron that Father Theodore had mentioned, though he thought that the priest himself was the one who wanted him, had been specific enough in his compliments on Stefano's art. 

As the figure came into view, Stefano knew that he was correct. This was not the supposed patron, Father Theodore was, as the priest stepped forward on his blind side, making himself known by the tapping of his cane on the floor. The man that he could see was large, too large, and also dressed like a priest, though his robes were tattered and the vestments burned. He could see that there was some form of artistry done to him, his skin, where it was visible, was terribly scarred, but like a child trying to sculpt with clay and a butter knife there was no mastery behind it. Most likely why he was covered in a long tube-like gas mask and bandaged. An interesting varnish to cover up poor craftsmanship. 

"If you were attempting to test my patience, consider it tested," Stefano said, turning to look over at Father Theodore, who was just as imposing, but much more human. Stefano didn't like thinking about why the man threatened him in his appearance alone, not when he was the one who saw what so many infidels couldn't. "Or was it something else you desired I prove." 

"Something else," Father Theodore explained. Stefano wished that he could see his easier but the way that the stranger was standing over him made him uneasy and he couldn't keep them both in view at once. The rustling of fabric definitely was more concerning than it had any right to be. "I was to test your resilience, your loyalty, your pain. How far are you willing to go for this?"

For his art? For the adoration that his creations deserved? There was no pain too great. There was nothing that he wouldn't do. He had already given himself, mind and body and other people's bodies, for his work. He had been a photographer before pain, but it was agony that made him an artist. The loyalty, on the other hand, he could do without but he could show it if it meant getting what he needed. 

"I am here, am I not? But if you wish to test my metal, as they say, you are free to do so."

That was met with silence and Stefano wondered if he'd given the wrong answer but there was a short nod from the stranger and then it was moving, not out of the room but behind Stefano, which made a shiver go up his spine at the very concept. He couldn't see either of them now, not without caning his neck and he was certain that was against the rules of the game Father Theodore was playing. 

His yelp was not of pain but of surprise as the stranger grabbed him by the hair and pulled him forward, away from it, putting him in a position that he could not hold without assistance. If only he could use his hands he would be on them and his knees but as it was he should have been bent over a chair or something and it made the muscles in hie thighs start to protest immediately. 

The hand left his hair and he almost toppled, almost landed on his face, but the hand, massive, caught him around the jaw, the pinky jabbing him in the throat uncomfortably. The index and middle finger rubbed against his thin lips, trying to part them. They breached and, instead, rubbed against his teeth. He didn't know what to do, to let them in and show his loyalty, or keep them out to show his resilience.

Father Theodore finally stepped into view, squatted down in front of him, and rustled his hair. "Let us see you at your most primal, your most depraved. Let us see what we can make from your body."

He opened his mouth and those fingers slid inside. They tasted like rubber and gasoline and they explored his mouth as if trying to get that taste everywhere. The gloves that it wore, at least, made it so that he didn't have to feel the texture of the burns all over its flesh. He gagged as the fingers went deep, pressed at teh back of his throat, and, while the fingers moved out and let him breathe, the never left. 

They plunged back in a moment later, making his choke, making his tear ducts kick in and one eye grow watery. He tried not to to bite down, tried not to fight, but his muscles tensed on instinct and tried to pull him away as the fingers thrust in and put of him so rapidly and hard. It didn't hurt really, but he knew that was just the start. 

Because he could see, through the watery distortion, that the holy man before him was just as depraved as as any sinner, stroking his cock through the black robe. 

He trembled and tried to hide it as he felt the stranger's other hand on his ass, the rubber glove he wore pulling and spreading his cheeks, putting him even more on display. A thumb ran over his hole and then lower, down to the folds of his pussy and just enough in to find his clit, small and hot and dry, uninterested in these advanced. Still the thumb pressed on it and rubbed, trying to coax him into arousal. 

He still didn't know what he was meant to do, where he was supposed to give him, how far they wanted to go. The fingers in his mouth spread to either side of his tongue and scraped against the ceramic crowns of his molars, eliciting more pleasure than the touch to his clit did, pressure against his gums. He had thought that focusing on one would help to distract from the other but his body was starting to respond against his will and confusing his senses. His nerves knew that arousal was being offered and it would take it however it could, and he could feel the heating pulse start to grow between his legs. 

Stefano could also feel the heated cock, rubbing up against him. The stranger stopped touching his clit, stopped thrusting in his mouth, in order to pull its erection free from its robes. When it went back to its duties of putting on a show for Father Theodore and making Stefano's tongue itch with touch, it also began to rut against him. 

Its cock was massive. 

Truly it was proportionate, all of the stranger was massive, but the way that it was pressing, not in but against, his pussy, made it feel like it was far too large to be possible. His labia was spread wide around it as it frot against him, drawing out more of his rare fluids, budding up against his protruding clit and giving it pleasure as well. He knew that he did not want that cock inside of his cunt, it would be too big, too much, and he was not prepared for it, but he knew it would be going inside of him soon and there was a certain thrill to him, a wonder, at how much his body could stand.

A tap on his jaw made him lift his head and he became obscenely aware that his chin had grown extremely wet, that he had been drooling around the fingers and it had drenched his stubble and was beading up on the edge of his skin. Father Theodore's eyes were cold and blown with lust, though his expression still had the demeanor of someone who cared not if the dog before him was starving to death or licking the blood from his fingers. 

Stefano expected him to say something, to ask him for confession or if he was too physically weak to stand this, but the holy man said nothing. He just sat there and watched as the saliva stained Setefano's face and the tears danced in the hollow of one eye and his expression shifted from pleasure to confusion to decided blankness. 

The cock shifted and it pressed and Stefano wanted to call out, both as a warning and out of fear, because the cock wasn't pressing against his pussy, which was warm and wet and much easier to stretch out to accommodate something like that, but against his asshole. It was the hole he preferred, honestly, but only with a great deal of preparation and care. None of that had happened here. 

There was a smile though, making the scar on Father Theodore's handsome face bunch up. This was intentional. This was the desired affect. What would it take to make Stefano tell them to stop, for him to break, for him to fight back? How much could he go through before the lost his loyalty? What could they use him for. 

He breathed, through his nose, tried to steady himself and think of the fingers in his mouth, pushing and rubbing against his tongue, tried to relax. Tried not to think about how big that cock as when pressed against him. Tried not to think about how big the stranger was, barely touching his back. Tried not to think of how intently Father Theodore was watching him. 

It felt like a brand new bruise as being punched down as the thick cock pressed harder, his body not letting it in and then relenting, his tissues folding and muscles bucking to try to keep it out. It was so big, it hurt so badly, feeling like it was tearing him and putting him back together in the wrong order. It pushed and pushed and it was moving so slowly but his bod couldn't match it. There was a horrible whining sound coming from him but he couldn't stop it, couldn't do anything but try to breathe through the bile rising in his tightening throat. 

He didn't know if he had taken all of it when it finally stopped pushing but it just sat there, like a heavy and hard weight, making his rapid heartbeat dance around it. His entire face was wet and he didn't know when that had happened, when the tears had finally broken free, but both cheeks were dripping salty tears and his nose was running and there was so much drool that he felt disgusting. He felt so many things and the fluid on his skin, along with the despicable cock shoved in so deep that he could feel it in his stomach just added to the horror of it. 

It started to pull out and he moaned around the fingers, sticking his tongue out around them, at the relief that having it removed gave him. It only pulled about half way before shoving fully back inside and he screeched at how it felt like being torn open again. After that it was a steady pace of in and out, never pulling out fully, never giving him a moment to rest, going a little bit deeper with every push in. 

His hands were in fists on his back, his toes curling, and his jaw ached. He had to focus to not bite down. He had to focus to remain there. It hurt so much but he knew that it could feel good, could feel the embers stroke against the pleasure centers of his frayed nerves. He just had to put himself in the right mindset, he just had to endure, he just had to get a slightly different angle. 

And then his head was being jerked in another direction, angled up, and a third finger was being shoved into his mouth, suddenly too much, making his throat itch. The idea of pleasure was torn from him. 

Father Theodore was smiling down at him and he had never been so afraid of a smile as he was then, as his smoldering hand brushed the bangs back from the horrible hole in Stefano's face. He traced it with those hot fingers, held the lips of the wound open, and Stefano was shaking all over, his lips specifically, bile combating the itch, rising further. 

The priest had pulled up his robes to display the terror that was his erection, hard and heavy and with that dark texture of satiny skin. The head was a beautiful dusky rose and there was a thick bead of precum hanging from the tip. 

Stefano wanted it in his mouth. Not just because of the fingers in there were already too much but because he only knew one other place that it could go and as Father Theodore came closer he tried to jerk away, just by instinct. It didn't matter, the cock hit his cheek and then slid upward, more fluid to add to the mess. 

The word that came out of Stefano was jumbled and so distorted that it couldn't be understood. The long eeee sound of it meant something though and Father Theodore pat his hair as he inched closer to his target. 

"Come now, no need to be shy," Father Theodore purred, "You want so much from us, show us what we can get from you." 

He had to stay still. He had to focus on the fingers. Even though they were too much and his lip felt close to tearing it wasn't as painful as the slow push and pull in his ass and stomach. It was a million times better than the pain that would be coming, he knew that from the times in which he'd had to touch, to clean gauze out of the socket. 

He closed his remaining eye. He hoped that Father Theodore would just jerk off on the edge of it, that he would cum into the socket and it would stick and burn and make him scream. But that wasn't enough. He knew that. The cock rubbed against the pulpy skin and then it pressed and the pain in his ass was nothing, it was just a heartbeat, because the wound in his eye was being wrenched, violently, back open, all of the healing he had gone through was undone in a second, as it was forced to spread around the holy man's thick erection. 

The bile in his throat left, all of it trying to drown him as it came up, squirted out between the rubber encased fingers, as the pain felt like it was cracking his skull, as the worst migraine he'd ever had burst into existence and jabbed into his brain with a thousand rusty blades. His vision did not white out as it did in stories of pain and pleasure, instead it was his mind that went to a pure unadulterated point, so much electric sensation that he couldn't keep up with it. 

He sagged, he let them do what they wished, he could do nothing else. He was barely able to even swallow the spit and vomit that was still clogging his throat. Distantly he could hear the moans of the man using his socket and he could feel how the hands on his scalp dragged him back and forth, could feel the bruising of his hips as fingers dug into his flesh. But the rest of him was numb, as floating. 

There was pressure, so much of it, pressing against his skull. It couldn't handle it. He knew a lot about his own skull, where the metal plates were, the type of glue to hold in his dentures, what types of activities would blind him, so he knew that the back of his socket was nowhere that something should press. 

It was like a piece of paper, held taut before a knife and it tore with enough pressure and there was the lustful moan of a man experiencing a delicacy that was never meant to exist. The slip and slide was easier as blood and puss joined the tears on Stefano's cheek. 

He was jack hammered into from behind, the monster, not stranger, losing composure and chasing its own needs before shoving in deep enough for his intestines to feel close to bursting, hot fluid spilling into them and soothing the ache. 

When the cock in his skull followed suit it did not give such calming aid, just more numbness. There was a long string of brown pink matter connecting it to him when it fully pulled free of him and he shuddered and seized, a spattering concoction of ooze spilling out of him. 

Stefano collapsed into the disgusting mixture of juices that he'd produced as the fingers pulled out of him. He had another quick and erratic seizure, vomited again, and the blistering heat of the room did not touch him in this state. He was cold and alone and pathetic, two monoliths, one of size and the other of power, standing over him without desire to aid or care. 

He was nudged, but with a foot, not with a caring touch. He was given his hands and they were numb and useless and he held them against his thundering chest as if he would lose them if he didn't. 

A hand was in his hair and it was wrenching him up, too big and wet, the hand of the failed art project, and he could see, but only barely, it hurt to try. He was maneuvered to be looking over at Father Theodore and his vision settled on just his silhouette. 

"Your body is weak but your soul is willing," Father Theodore stated and his hand was still on his cock. It was small now, soft, and he wiped the blood, puss, and cum off on Stefano's open mouth, cleaning his fingers by sliding them in and wiping them off on his tongue. His mouth had already filthy, just from his own refuse, but the taste of the rest made him want to vomit again. 

He was dropped back to the ground, too tired to even try to catch himself, before his body could decide whether or not to wretch. He doubted there was much else that could come up regardless. 

"Clean yourself up," Father Theodore ordered, as if such a task was simple, "and then we shall see about your resurrection. We shall make you not only whole, but powerful, a god among men."


End file.
